


The Raging Storm

by TheBookishFeminist



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25525387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBookishFeminist/pseuds/TheBookishFeminist
Summary: Set before the first Thor movie:The war against the Dark Elves is won, but there's trouble brewing in Asgard. Political unrest and conspiracies abound, noblemen start turning up dead. Eistla, daughter of a Dark Elf princess and Asgardian general has to navigate not only the increasingly hostile climate and her mysterious powers but also her growing feelings for a certain God of Mischief.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel) & Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Out of the raging storm, the three women emerged. They walked unhurriedly, not bowing to the icy winds and relentless downpour that kept folk huddled indoors around their hearths, for these women bowed to no one.  
When they reached their destination, the youngest of the three, a maiden fair as spring, stepped forward to knock on the door. An old, hatchet-faced woman opened, her scowl quickly fading to a mixture of awe and terror as she beheld the Three Sisters. “Mistresses, I…Never did I think you would…” she stammered, hurriedly wiping her bloodstained hands on her apron, adding yet more rust colored stains to the fabric.   
“Step aside and leave us, wise woman, your work here is done.” The maiden said, her voice as sweet as honey and as ancient as the wind whistling through the trees on a midsummer’s day.   
Not needing to be told twice, the midwife grabbed her cloak off a hook by the door and rushed out into the rain, the quicker to get away. She was one of the most respected in her craft, otherwise she would not have been the one attending this particular birth, and even she, with her charms and hearth magic would never dare to meddle with the Sisters.  
The door shut behind her, and the women looked around. The house was grand and splendidly furnished, speaking to the owner’s good standing, wealth and taste. None of that would matter tonight. Tonight, the Norns had stepped into this dwelling to speak their Truth, to behold the life that had just been delivered into this world and to chart its course.  
The last one to enter, a hunched crone with a face as wrinkled as the bark on a tree, looked about her. Faintly, a thin wail could be heard, blending with the much more forceful howl of the wind outside. The crone followed the cry to an inner chamber, her sisters in her wake. There, on a magnificent four poster bed, carved with vines and flowers, lay a beautiful woman, her lifeblood slowly draining, spreading in a crimson pool on the finely embroidered sheets. The woman lifted her head weakly, paling even further when she caught sight of her visitors.  
“Please, Grandmother. Not them. Not my precious ones.” She whispered, voice barely more than a breath, yet the women understood her.   
Skuld, for that was the Crone’s name, stepped close to the bed and took the woman’s hand in her own. “Don’t fret, my child, your toil is done. Worry not about your children. They will walk their own paths, even as yours is coming to an end. There, rest now, and all your pain shall fade away.” She murmured, placing a gentle hand to the woman’s cheek. She gave one last shaky breath and lay still. The crone bowed her head for a moment “The thread is severed, ‘tis done. Return home, spirit, and begone.” She muttered before she rose.  
Adjacent to the bed, two cribs had been placed. They were of a craftsmanship even finer than the other furnishings, made of a deep mahogany wood inlaid with gold scrollwork, the blankets woven from finest wool shot through with silver thread, enchanted to emanate a steady, soft warmth. Cribs that befitted kings and their offspring.  
The crone peered into the cradle by the window, the stormclouds chasing across the sky casting shadows upon the tiny face within. She looked at the swaddled infant dispassionately. “This one will be trouble.” she said, not taking her eyes off the child who was gazing at her steadily with a solemn expression much more aware and intent than that of a newborn ought to be.   
The Maiden came up to her sister. “The girl then. It is always the women, is not, who carry the heaviest burden.” she briefly glanced at the other crib in which a little boy gurgled happily, entirely childlike and carefree. The third of the sisters, Verdandi, a stout matron, the embodiment of motherhood, bent down to tickle the baby, smiling as he gave a delighted squeal.   
The Maiden sighed. As a flash of lightning split the sky, she stood tall, her sisters by her side, as she spoke the words of the prophecy that would determine the little girl’s fate.  
“Born of chaos, born of strife,   
child of death and ashes;   
loveless home breeds loveless life,   
though lightning brightly flashes;

Yet fight you will, stand tall and strong  
Your freedom you’ll defend;  
To see what comes, what’s right,what’s wrong,  
My gift, your curse, your violent end.”

As one, the Norns stepped back, mist swirling at their feet.   
“Farewell, little one. We shall meet again.” Urd said, disappearing into the air.  
“Beware, child, your path will be a thorny one.” Verdandi added, following her sister into the void.  
Only Skuld remained, looking form the body of the mother to the child, meeting its gaze once more. “Death carried you into this world so Death shall name you. Walk tall, Eistla, walk proud and fierce and never bow, for you are chosen.”  
With that, the last of the Three Fates disappeared in a whirl of gray and the chamber lay still once more.   
Outside, a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds.


	2. Chapter One: In the Beginning

Chapter One: In the beginning  
The children gathered around their nursemaid, bright eyed, knowing that a rainy day meant story time. While they were all eager to frolic in the garden and chase the beautiful, bright-winged butterflies, none of them could resist a good tale.  
Story time was when Eistla felt safest. No talking meant no cruel jabs or sneers from the other children, no taunts or pinches when Nurse’s back was turned. Ever since she and Elanjar, her twin, had been old enough to start their formal education, they had been the victims of cruel japes and their peer’s hostility.  
Only their father’s high standing in Odin’s court as his chief advisor and first general ensured that they were not publicly ridiculed or worse, as no one wished to incur the wrath of Eyarr Iron Fist.   
Their older brother, Trygve, was intimidating enough through his sheer size, already taking after their father in physical strength and aptitude in combat and had recently been chosen as sparring partner for Prince Thor, a fact he never let anyone forget.  
The twins, younger by six years, were still taught by a number of tutors and nursemaids, sharing lessons with the offspring of other noble families and occasionally even Prince Loki, who was only a little older than them.  
To Eistla, those were some of her favorite lessons. The younger Prince was a quiet child, a bit shy and bashful, who always tried to help and never made fun of the twins or joined in taunting them, so oftentimes they were left alone. Often, but not always  
Yet whenever they came home crying or upset because of the other children’s cruelty, their father, a large, muscled man whose long hair and beard hung braided to his belt, would cast a stern, cold eye upon his youngest, so resembling their late mother. He would tell them in a sharp, unforgiving tone that being educated alongside Princes was a great honor, one he had fought hard for, and that they should be grateful and cease their whining.  
Story time though was when they didn’t have to try to be strong or be invisible. They would dive into the tale right alongside their mates, sometimes even being included in talking about it afterwards,   
But when Nurse looked around the eager faces with an expectant air, Eistla’s heart sank for she knew which tale would follow.  
“Now my doves, who wants to hear about the Daylight war?”   
Eight hands shot into the air, eyes bright with excitement, many a look cast sideways at the only two who had not responded.  
“It’s alright Elanjar, Eistla. It is a story you should embrace, not be ashamed of.” The portly woman said, not unkindly, as she noticed their bleak looks.  
She settled her bulk more comfortably into her chair by the fire warming the domed schoolroom and began:  
“It was an age of great prosperity and happiness. Asgardians lived peacefully, profiting from the wealth and abundance of our fair realm, knowing they were safe under their wise King Odin and his benevolent queen Frigga.  
But, unbeknownst to all of us, a storm was gathering and it would bring death and destruction, plunging the Realm Eternal into everlasting Night.  
For the Dark Elves had risen, a race so fierce and dangerous they had been banned to the ends of the cosmos, biding their time on Svarftalfheim, plotting to overthrow the Allfather and bring chaos to the Nine Realms.”  
The children were at the edge of their seats, hanging on Nurse’s very word. Only the twins shifted uncomfortably, , trying to make themselves as small as possible so as not to draw any attention, knowing at the same time it was futile, for how could you evade attention when you were the very monster from the story?   
The tale went on.  
“Honored Mistress Safiya, the palace’s High Oracle, foretold the coming of a great darkness and told Odin to prepare for the war to come.  
The Allfather gathered his troops and his strongest, most trusted warriors and went off to battle, for the forces of the cunning Elves had almost reached the gates of the city.  
For nine times nine days and nights the fight raged on, a fitting number as the fate of all the Nine Realms hung in the balance.  
On the morning of the 82 day, the leaders surveyed the field. Thousands of bodies lay strewn across the blood-soaked ground, crows and wolves feasting and yet no side had the upper hand.  
A flag of temporary ceasefire was hissed and Odin met with Darcassan, king of the elves and leader of their army.  
It took another fortnight of negotiations but, as the forces were so evenly matched, eventually a truce was brokered.  
It was a precarious peace to seal and cement the uneasy alliance, the Allfather proposed a joining of the two peoples.  
Since he himself was already married to Queen Frigga, his most trusted advisor and First General-“ here, Nurse turned her attention towards the twins, “Your honored father, The Lord Eyarr Grimkellson, agreed to take to wife the Princess of the Dark Elves, the Lady Ilyrana, daughter of Darcassan, may the Norns keep her soul.  
The princess was rumored to be a great beauty and a lovely woman, so when Lord Eyarr brought her home, the people of Asgard welcomed her as the harbinger of peace, of a bright new era free from war and strife.”  
Eistla snorted. She knew exactly how the Asgardians had received her mother, even though she hadn’t been born yet.  
Sorceress, they called her. Witch, monster, abomination. All the names they now called Eistla, and worse.  
Her Uncle Aranel, who had joined his sister in Asgard as an ambassador and who, after her death, had taken a hand in her children’s upbringing, much to Eyarr’s dislike, had told them all about their mother’s unhappiness in a Realm that hated her, with a husband who saw her as a prize at best.   
Oblivious to Eistla’s glare, Nurse went on.  
“Thus, peace was restored in the Nine Realms, the wisdom and graciousness of our great King Odin Allfather protecting us all from certain doom. Now, who wants hot chocolate?”  
Loud cheers greeted this question and the hoard of children raced off to an adjoining chamber where servants had set up steaming mugs of thick, sweet chocolate.   
Only one boy, pale and dark haired, hung back and, tentatively, walked over to where Eistla still sat, Elanjar having been lured away by the promise of a treat.   
"I think she was very brave. Your lady mother. To come alone to a strange land and wed a man who sought to kill her people." Prince Loki said quietly. "Mother told us what a fine woman she was, and that we should always be respectful and kind to those who are different and seek to make our Realm their home."   
Eistla looked at him, feeling tears well at his words. She had always been fond of him and found him a serious, studious young man and his words, no matter how clumsily spoken, warmed her to the tips of her pointed ears   
"Thank you, Prince Loki." she whispered.   
He bowed to her as solemn and regal as only a boy of nine could before his expression changed entirely, a mischievous sparkle entering his green eyes.   
"What say you, Lady Eistla, shall we leave the children to their chocolate and see if the kitchens hold any better treasures? I know a secret passage that leads right to where cook leaves the cooling racks when she bakes."  
She thrilled at the chance to sneak off and explore the palace yet she faltered, casting an uncertain look at her brother, holding the heavy mug with both hands, for he was a delicate child, listening intent to something Nurse was saying.   
Loki followed her gaze, sensing her reluctance. "Your brother seems fine. I am sure he can spare you for a while. Come, before the old bat realizes that we're missing." he said, holding out his hand to her.   
With one last look at her brother, Eistla took a deep breath and reached for Loki's hand, ready to let him lead her into an adventure.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter 2 ~10 years later~

The Prince reached for her hand, but she danced away at the last minute. "Come now, Your Highness, you didn't think I'd fall for the same trick twice! You'll have to do better than that!" Eistla teased.   
She and Prince Loki circled each other, both adjusting the grip on their daggers, waiting for an opening.   
The sun was setting over Asgard, painting its spires and turrets a molten gold against the backdrop of a crimson sky.   
Neither of the combatants spared the beauty around them so much as a glance, such was their focus.   
They had been sparring partners for years now, both having a natural affinity for knives, while their respective elder brothers were hacking at each other with swords and axes in the main grounds.   
Eistla’s father had initially been against her training in combat - after all, it was most unseemly for a lady- but he eventually had to concede when Prince Loki himself request her, rather than her twin brother, to be his partner.   
This had resulted in yet another row between Eyarr and Elanjar who, much to his sire's chagrin, preferred words to weapons and had recently entered into an apprenticeship with the Royal Wisdom Keepers. A society comprised of Poets, Historians and Philosophers, they were tasked with preserving the amassed knowledge and literature of the Nine Realms, collected in Asgard's vast library, the Hall of Wisdom. To be granted a place among them, especially at such a tender age, was an honor bestowed on few, and Elanjar had worked tirelessly for it.   
Eschewing youthful pursuits in favor of studying night and day, he had made a name for himself as the youngest poet to recite one of his own works for the King himself during the Feast of Autumn Harvest the previous year.   
Where others saw a bright young mind, his father saw only failure.   
Had Trygve not proven himself a worthy warrior and close companion to Prince Thor, Eyarr would never have allowed a son of his to become a Wisdom Keeper. As it was, he focused his attention solely on the achievements of his first born and largely ignored the twins, which suited them fine.   
For Eistla, he had hoped she might secure a position as Lady in Waiting to Queen Frigga until he could arrange a marriage of the most political and economic benefit for his House. Ever the schemer, Eyarr had not been displeased when Prince Loki showed an interest in his daughter. Second born he might be, but for a woman with Dark Elf blood running through her veins he would be a most fortunate match indeed. So he let her practice with her knives, hoping the Prince would make his move soon.   
"Are you ever going to make your move, my Prince, or does your strength desert you already?" Eistla called, yelping in surprise when Loki suddenly appeared behind her, gently tapping his blunted training knife against the pulse point in her neck, a fatal cut, had this been a real fight.   
She whirled around, eyes flashing."Now that is just unfair. Did we not agree to not use magic?"   
Loki smirked. "Are you implying that I, your sovereign, cheated, my lady?"   
Eistla snorted, walking back towards the benches on the fringe of the sparring arena, wiping the sweat from her face with a cloth. "No implying about it, and in this ring, you're not my sovereign, else your father would have my head for striking you."   
"Ah, but you didn't strike me, did you?" he goaded, dropping onto the bench next to her to take a long draught of water from his canteen. "If this were an actual fight, there would be no pre-arranged rules. Use whatever advantages you may possess and do not expect your opponent to hold back. Not everyone would stop at a gentle tap as I did." he said, half turning to face her, making his point.   
Eistla knew he was right. She vividly recalled the times he had been detained, unable to attend their sparring lessons, and she had been forced to pair up with whomever was available. While Loki's protection had granted her a reprieve from being outright mocked and sneered at, it certainly hadn't gained her any friends in court.   
She had ached for weeks after a particularly vicious bout against the lady Sif who most definitely hadn't held back.   
She bowed her head, twisting the cloth in her hands until she felt the touch of cool fingers on hers. "Forgive me, Eistla. I did not mean to spoil the mood. You may be a little bit right in that I might have the slightest inclination to occasionally… bend the rules. Just a bit." he said lightly, smiling when he heard her bark a most unladylike laugh. "Bend. A little. Right." Her eyes met his, silver gazing into emerald as neither of them looked away.   
In the years following that first clandestine expedition into the palace kitchens, the two had become inseparable, getting each other into and out of trouble, exploring the castle, sharing their secrets and fears.   
After her brothers, Loki was the person she trusted most in court and despite their different stations she considered him her friend.   
Lately though, when she looked at his lean frame, dark hair and those piercing eyes, she felt a flutter that had nothing to do with admiring his fighting skills.   
Eistla did not want to become one of those fawning fools that descended upon the princes in droves during every banquet, so she kept her distance and focused on her training and her studies, determined to make a life for herself, not depend on whatever man her lord father deigned to thrust upon her.   
And yet, when Loki still didn't break his gaze, the flutter returned, a hummingbird trapped inside her chest. When he shifted in his seat and their arms brushed, she sucked in a breath. Slowly, holding her eye, he leaned forward, uncertainty and determination chasing each other across his features. Her lips parted as he closed the gap between them and-  
A loud crash followed by raucous laughter made them jump apart. Eistla sprang up, flushed, looking towards the source of the racket. She was entirely unsurprised when the hulking forms of her big brother and the equally imposing crown prince stepped into view. They seemed to be recounting their exploits in the training ring with much gesturing and back slapping.   
When Trygve caught sight of her, he waved with a grin and made his way over to them, Thor close behind.   
"Well met, little sister, had I known you'd be out here today I would have come to cheer you on, not that you need it." he boomed, pulling her into a bear hug which she returned with a breathless laugh.   
Despite his most untimely arrival and brash manner, her oldest sibling was a kind, genial and good-natured fellow and she loved him dearly.   
He had moved to court as soon as he came of age, permanently joining Prince Thor's retinue as the two were bound by a deep friendship and mutual respect. Thor joked that Tryg was there solely to talk him out of his more foolish ideas, though more often than not he joined in them, his youthful follies not yet completely outgrown.   
The elder Prince now shoved past Trygve and, bowing, captured Eistla’s hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. "Ah, Lady Eistla, your beauty rivals that of the sunset. Have you not yet tired of attempting to teach my brother to tell a butter knife from a dagger?" he smirked, flashing his most charming smile at her.   
Even as she curtseyed, she inwardly rolled her eyes. Though not unlike her own brother in terms of temperament, Thor had always carried himself with a sort of reckless arrogance and devil-may-care attitude which, to her, did not befit a future ruler.   
While he was always gallant, dancing with her at feast days, talking and jesting whenever they met, his beauty and charm had never stirred her as Loki's quiet, pensive nature had. Looking at them now, side by side, light and dark, it was hard to imagine that these two had come from the same womb.   
It was then that Eistla noticed Loki's glare. He speared his brother with a look of such intense resentment and animosity that she was surprised Thor didn't spontaneously combust on the spot.   
Gently, she slid her hand free of his and retreated a step. "You are too kind, your Highness, even as you do your brother an injustice. Prince Loki is generous with his skill and knowledge and he has taught me many a thing for which I am most grateful." She bobbed another curtsey, including Loki and Trygve in the gesture. "With your leave I shall retire now. The hour grows late and my lord father will expect me." she said, gathering up her items and, with a last lingering look at Loki, which he returned from under his lashes, and a farewell to her brother and Prince Thor, she turned and made her way home.


End file.
